


When the forest burns

by captandor



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captandor/pseuds/captandor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six days since I slept in the green woods that surround us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the forest burns

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 'missing scene' from the beginning of New Moon. Unbeta'd. Possibly considering continuing this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything within or concerning the 'Twilight' universe; Stephanie Meyer does.

_Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me. | Bella Swan, New Moon, Chapter 4, p.93_

They say that after a forest fire, there is regrowth. That after the crash and burn, after the silent and numb reaction of the world, something will come. Someday will come. That time will heel all wounds. Scorched earth will live again.

I am standing on the edge of a field. Or, rather, it looks like a field. It's all manner of grays, as if a storm has raged and the rain only just lifted. Black clouds hang low. Taking a step, a sound of gravel draws my attention, surprising me in such a soft-looking scene. It's not gravel. Upon closer inspection, the field - with it's crunching, harsh reality - is not a field, but the charred remains of a lush forest. One foot in front of the other, I make my way across this seemingly endless expanse. There is nothing for miles but the rolling smoke, hanging like storm clouds and nearly suffocating, and silence. There is a cold numbness seeping into me, as if the place can tell that there is no life to be found here. I clutch at my chest, convinced I'm choking in the numb, freezing, heat of a fire finally having died -

It's like this, choking and sputtering, that I wake. I'm in my room, my own bed. The cold of the middle of the night is rushing in through my open window along with a light rain. Throwing the covers off of me, I stand and make my way to it, straining to look through the thick fog of 2am in the Upper Northwest Peninsula. I know it's fruitless, if Edward doesn't want to be seen, he won't be. He could see me from two miles away if he wanted (I remind myself that he absolutely does not want to, that's the point of all of this, isn't it?), and I would be here, hanging half out of my window like the mess I've become. But the fresh air revives me and the memories of my dream - nightmare - fly like the wisps of gray surrounding our house. The silence isn't oppressive, like it was in the former-forest of my sleep, it's comforting, wrapping me in itself.

It's been six days since Edward Cullen and his family - the vampires of Forks, Washington - left town. Their story had been that of moving to sunnier, warmer lands - Los Angeles, California - for better pay and beach bunnies, but I know better. I know so much better, in fact, that I roll my eyes right where I'm standing. He had left me, the thought made my chest ache and bile rise in my throat but the thought of Charlie - my dad - soundly asleep across the hall stops me from rushing to the bathroom and emptying what little food there is in my stomach. Six days and I still haven't slept through a night, haven't spoken to anyone beyond one word answers to Charlie during one of our two daily meals. I drag myself to school, stop myself from staring at the empty seat next to me in every single class and then drive home, lucky to make it back to the house through the haze without crashing my ancient beast of a truck. I make dinner. Charlie comes home. Puts his gun away, hanging up just beside the door that leads to the small living room. After dinner I clean the dishes. He goes into the living room after pointlessly asking if I want to join to watch a Mariners game. They're in the playoffs this year it seems. Shaking my head, a numb gesture I've gotten used to using for every sort of answer, he grunts acceptance and leaves me be. I vaguely remember thinking once: that's what's great about Charlie; he doesn't hover.

I strain to see if the sun will rise soon, if the rain will ebb. No such luck. Backing away from the window, the cold having sunk into my bones in a familiar lie, as if Edward were wrapped around me in my sleep. His ice cold, smooth as polished stone skin, often had me chattering through the evenings, wrapped up with a blanket between us to protect my frail human form. Pathetic human form, the thought flashes before I can shut it out. Physically flinching, the one idea has opened a flood gate and I sink the floor, no longer seeing. Pathetic, weak, human. Breakable, fragile, mortal. Aging, graceless, vulnerable. He could never love me, I should have known. I am inside myself once more, lying on the wet floor of my own burning forest, as he has disappeared and I won't be found for hours, shivering in a light rain and hearing voices call my name. It's as if I'm actually there again, numb, nameless time passing by without my notice or care. He's gone. Gone. Gon-

Someone's shaking me and I crack an eyelid to see Charlie doing it - hovering - and tugging on my shoulder with worry in his dark brown eyes. I blink and register him saying something about me sleeping on the floor. I shrug and stand up, adjusting my pajamas and staring blankly at him. I don't see the problem.

"For cripes' sake Bella, you'll catch a death down there," he shakes his head because it's a lost cause, and leaves my bedroom. Glancing back to shoot me one more bewildered, worried look, he leaves me alone again.


End file.
